Quest
by Junaberry
Summary: There's no turning back when you meet the golden angel. Sequel to Fool.


On the 16th of May, my mother, Isabella Marie Swan, died from a car accident. I woke up in the middle of the night to receive a phone call from her lawyer informing me that a, and I quote _bunch of hooligans plowed straight into her car, killing her instantly. She suffered no pain, mind. _She gave me her condolences and I thanked her for all she had done for our family. We bid each other goodbye and I hung up to fall back into bed. At the time, my mind was dead; I wasn't exactly capable of coherent thoughts so the next morning, I couldn't quite remember what had happened the night before…

OoOoO

By seven the next morning, I was showered, dressed impeccably and was holding a mug of steaming coffee in my right hand. To that point in time, the morning had gone rather well. The alarm clock had woken me at the correct time and instead of hitting the snooze button, as per usual, I had staggered to the shower to drown myself in hot water. However, this action was quite of the ordinary. I rarely shower in the morning but that morning, it felt imperative.

"Congratulations, Isabella, you've just started your day right for once in two months."

Sarcasm was livid in my family; my mother had been sarcastic, my grandfather had been sarcastic and I can only assume my father is sarcastic. At this point, I still did not recall the dreaded phone call that had raised me at midnight. Forget it, I thought to myself. No use in trying to remember and screwing up the rest of a good day. I left the town house to flail my arms in a rather thwarting way to catch the attention of a cab. Of course, it took an unreasonable amount of time to find one that was willing to drive me to the core of the city. This piece of information continues to stun me; the core of town is where most people want to go, why become a cabbie if you don't want to drive there? Minds work in different ways, I suppose.

It was amusing in a way of how I was so unaware of what had really happened in the night. How I was just so oblivious to the fate of my mother and the grief that was begging to be released. I knew inside but my exterior was burying my emotions deeper and deeper inside until eventually, they would be consumed entirely by me. I would forget that piece of information entirely. Perhaps, in the distant future, I would travel to Forks to visit Bella, only to find a gravestone in her place bearing her name.

"Business in town?"

The cabbie was a young Goth boy. It was disturbing; just how many people in this godforsaken world thought they were worshipers of Satan? Thought that dressing them in ridiculously thick eyeliner was going to prove their worth to the almighty devil?

"Interview withthe New York Journal."

"Wow, serious? That's heaps awesome."

"Yeah… real awesome."

For the rest of the drive to the tall city building I could see in the distance, we ignored each other. Upon reaching the location, we sent each other our pleasantries and I paid him.

"Thanks."

My stomach felt like it was going to drop out of my butt and I was screaming in sheer terror inside my head. But there was only one way to go from there; up, straight up to… Mr. Smith's office.

OoOoO

The receptionist sat directly in front of the sliding door entrance. She was scribbling attentively into a pink notebook but I doubted it had anything to do with her job or task at hand. Her brown hair was pinned back to reveal a nasty scar that rode from her ear to her scalp.

"Good morning, ma'am. How can I help you?"

"I'm here for an interview with…" I briefly checked the note I had been sent in the mail a week ago. "Mr. Smith."

The warm woman chuckled delightedly. "Ah, Mr. Smith; you be careful, his wife can be touchy. Third floor. Ask the receptionist there for further instructions."

"Thanks."

The second time I had said thanks that day when I really, _really _did not mean it in the least. But they didn't have to know.

The lobby had an eerie feel to it; the floor was marble and blindingly sparkly. I only had to imagine the amount of time and effort the cleaners spent on the floor to make it so shiny to make me cringe and trip over the rug that ran through the elevator entrance hall. It was at that moment that I feared for my dignity that I realized that the entire lobby was empty. _Leave it behind and seek your future. _Thanks, priceless information… (Note the sarcasm)

I've always had a distinct fear of elevator rides. My mother had managed to pinpoint it down to a time that she dropped me _in _an elevator when I was a baby. Fortunately, a man caught me before my cerebral cortex could be damaged. Not so lucky that I had to live with this woman in the same house for 12 years. The red light at the top showing which floor it was glaring me until my squinting nearly maimed me. Thank God I only had to go to the third floor or else I believe I may have quite possibly fainted only to be found hours later; dead from swallowing my own saliva. I skipped out of the confinement to talk to the woman sitting by the corner, typing furiously on her keyboard. She looked up when I cleared my throat at her desk.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I have an interview with Mr. Smith now."

"Yeah, that room right there."

She vaguely ushered me with her hands to the closest room and I walked away without thanking her. She wasn't worth my gratitude. More than the others.

I rapped my knuckles on the door twice. Remain calm, cool and collected. I am a smart woman, here to prove a point, not my value. These assurances of my worth were of no use; the simple confronting terror of the mahogany door that held a man that would determine my destiny was simply too terrifying to even consider remaining calm.

"Come in." It was a light, clear voice that allowed my entrance and it most definitely fit his appearance. It was in the moment that I pushed open the door with my bottom lip trembling realized just how _old _I was not only compared to him but to everyone. I was 48 that year; aging yes, but I wasn't a hag. My appearance that changes with age does not worry me; it is something I've come to accept. It's the daunting thought of death, of lying cold in the ground for centuries on end, that closes in on me at the worst moments like now. He couldn't have been more than 30.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith, I presume."

"Hello, Isabella Numenor, I presume in return."

"Yes, sir."

We shared a smile and I fidgeted as a few awkward seconds of silence passed. He assessed me with his eyes and took a note on a piece of paper; writing with a loping, old style handwriting. My mouth and lips were drying and I licked them, consciously trying to not attract his attention by this stunt.

"You know what's funny, Isabella? My son once had a close friend called Bella, short for Isabella. She looked so much like you…" He stared wistfully passed my shoulder; I sensed some regret or sadness in his tone and it in turn, created some inner turmoil within me.

"Perhaps you're talking about my mother; I'm named after her." I urged for his eyes to return to my face. Surprisingly, it was his lack of concentration that filled me with fear the most. "I've brought my resume here for you to have a look at."

"Wonderful…" he murmured. "Bring it here, child."

Child? My heart was racing but I reacted instantly, placing it onto his desk. What could he mean by child? I had to be at least 20 years his senior. How mysterious of him to say such a thing.

I stood like this for some time while he examined every page studiously. His eyes only flickered slightly and I watched his expression like a hawk. He cocked his eyebrow a little and the corners of his mouth rose. Raising of eyebrows was definitely NOT GOOD.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

I needed to ace this interview; I needed the money badly. Bella was aging and her body was deteriorating with the years. Her frailness was frightening. And retirement villages were not at all cheap.

"Oh, quite the opposite, rest assured, Isabella. I'm just enjoying your little recount of your days in Forks. You know, I used to live there when it was just Claudia and I."

He looked intently at me all through his little reminiscing and he had a twinkle to his eye but he returned his gaze to my papers before I could send him a remark. I wrung my hands and shifted my weight in a disturbing fashion.

"Well, all of your reports seem in order but before I accept your resume, I'd like if we just had a little chat. Take a seat; why, how rude of me! I should have asked you're the minute you came in."

I swallowed and smiled in reply only to be met with a dead gaze. I questioned him on his worries but he confidently told me that he was just tired from a long night the day before. His chair was comfortable and inviting; just how a big shot like him should have his guests' chair.

"So, let's begin Isabella right from the beginning. Tell me about your childhood."

A heavy churning that had begun that morning rose slowly to my throat and I glued my eyes to his nose to stop me from vomiting into my lap.   
"I was born in 2008 in Canada then brought back to Forks to live in my grandfather's house. I had a pleasant childhood; it was just my mother and I but on my 12th birthday, I was sent to a boarding school in Chicago. It was a pretty rough time but it was bearable."

"Well, that certainly is a very short recount of a tenth of your life. Isn't there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Well, I've never met my dad. He left my mom when she got pregnant."

"My apologies for being so blunt. Tell me more about your mother then."

He spoke enthusiastically but his eyes looked dead and dark and his expression was lifeless. I was reluctant to continue; frankly, I would have rather just left as quickly as I had come and wait for a phone call of rejection.

"My mother and I don't speak much nowadays. We had a fight last September; she wanted me to stay in Forks to live with her but I wanted to move here."

I glared at him from under my eyelashes and cursed him for raising such an uncomfortable topic.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. You can leave now."

He glared straight into my eyes with his light brown eyes and his mouth twitched.

Regret; regret poured into me like I was a mold as I said good bye and thank you to him and stepped outside into the warm air outside his office. For some odd reason, I wanted to talk more to this strange man, I needed to know more about him and for this same reason, I sat on the couch at the entrance to his division to wait for him to leave. I will not run from him; from fate. I will not be like my mother.


End file.
